Transcription
The Novelist Portent
Johnny E. Mahaffey
October 24, 2014
IN THE BEAUTY OF ELLE
In a poem every word has a purpose. Separate it and it could be meaningless, or it may hold a beauty of its own, a rarity of jewel. Readers may find themselves swaying to its rhyme along a ride of urgency or meditative Zen, their chests might throb with pining hears or burn with hate. That is a choice left best to the poet, with pen posed above paper—creating.
I love you, Ellie, my princess daughter. You, and both your sisters, are jewels of the world.
I'll never regret all those years ago when I was poised there above that fresh sheet of opal creating poetry. Putting each of you into the world was undoubtedly the best thing I ever did.
I sent the original rough draft of No Air over to Mamaw for you to be picked up, along with a multitude of books I've sent there for you and your siblings.
Happy birthday.
[magazine clipping of a chocolate Labrador puppy diving into a pool of water.]
"Him's not a dog, him's Peanut."
The photo book Underwater Dogs by Seth Casteel was great, but Underwater Puppies is adorable.
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